Rogue protector, p.9
Rogue Protector, page 9
“Sweetheart, if they come after us—hell, if I find them anytime, anywhere for the rest of their lives, they’re going to wish they’d never been born. I’ve spent the past twenty some odd years of my life training, fighting, and killing men trained to kill me.” Austin traces my lips with his thumb, and I just want to be somewhere safe with him. “I won’t let anything happen to you. But we have to get to the Land Rover.”
He leans in, and his lips are warm. Demanding. Kissing him makes me believe everything’s going to be okay. That maybe we’ll get to have that tomorrow I so desperately want.
I whimper when he pulls away, but he smiles at me, though up close, I can see the concern in his hazel eyes. “You’re safe with me, Mikayla. Always.”
Chapter Eleven
Austin
Poachers. Fucking poachers. Those bastards zip tied her wrists and what? Pushed her over the edge of a cliff? Or did she just fall? Mikayla isn’t in any shape to walk or answer questions, so I carry her, and she clings to me like her life depends on it, still shivering violently. I’d pull out one of the mylar heat blankets for her, but with the wind practically blowing sideways, it wouldn’t do much good.
We don’t make it more than a quarter mile down the mountain when the roar of the river drowns out the rain, the thunder, and the chattering of Mikayla’s teeth in my ear.
“Austin? Wh-what’s that sound?” She lifts her head from my shoulder, and when I shine the light over where the bridge should be, she swallows a sob. Alone, I might be able to find a way to cross and not drown, but with Mikayla, there’s no chance. Only half of the bridge remains, and there’s no way it’ll hold us.
Swinging the light in a slow arc, I find a stand of three trees huddled together that should offer us a little protection from the wind. “We’ll find another way back to the car,” I say as I press a kiss to the top of her head and then sink down with my back against the thickest trunk.
“How?” she asks.
“Scale of one to ten. How do you feel?” The GPS doesn’t offer me much hope we’ll be able to get anywhere safe tonight. Not if I have to carry her the whole way.
“Th-three.” I check her pulse as she peers up at me, and fuck. Her pupils are dilated, her lips parted slightly, and her heartbeat isn’t steady. She needs food, water, and to be somewhere warm and dry, and if I can’t provide that soon, I’m afraid she won’t survive the night.
I’d give my left nut for a better map—or cell signal—but since that’s not going to happen, I have to improvise.
“I need you to focus for me, sweetheart.” Shifting her closer in a desperate attempt to keep her even a single degree warmer, I show her the GPS screen. “You know this area a hell of a lot better than me. Have you seen any structures between the lab and Site One? Anything we can get to without crossing the river?”
“Nuh-uh.” Mikayla’s eyes close, and she curls against me, shaking so violently, I’m worried she’s having a seizure. A low moan escapes her lips, and then she stills, all the tension leaving her body as she passes out.
“Mik!” Fuck. No! I need her to stay conscious. But not even light slaps to her cheek or rubbing her hands does any good. Though she’s still breathing, her lips have taken on a bluish tinge again, and her skin—even under her tank top—is like ice.
Staring at the GPS, I zoom in and out, checking every square mile for something—anything—that might function as a shelter. We don’t need much. Just somewhere I can protect us against the driving rain and wind.
There. About a mile away. A short, steep descent, but the black square on the grid looks like a structure. Anything with at least three walls will work. Hell, even two. I have enough plastic sheeting and mylar blankets in my ruck to seal us off from the wind, and if there’s a roof, we’ll be protected from the rain.
Hoisting Mik in a modified fireman’s carry so I can move faster, I follow the river for half a mile, then turn east. More than once, I slip on the steep, slick rocks, but I make it down two hundred feet in under half an hour.
Mikayla shudders from time to time, but thankfully, she doesn’t protest being carried across my shoulders.
What I thought might be an old military structure turns out to be ruins of a small building—maybe a craftsman’s shop—at least three or four hundred years old. I’ve studied every single known structure on the Maya Trail, and this one never came up in any of my research.
But if I never discovered it, it’s unlikely anyone else knows about it either, which should keep us safe for the night. At least until the storm passes.
I set Mik down close to the entrance while I clear the room. Plenty of brush in one corner, likely deposited by the wind, but I kick it aside and nothing skitters out from hiding. No wild animals, snakes, or poisonous spiders.
It’ll work. Dropping my rucksack, I unpack the camping mat and roll it out along the back wall. The space isn’t airtight by any means; the roof is missing in huge chunks—except for the corner where we’ll sleep. Next, I retrieve a sleeping bag.
Carefully, I lay out everything I think we’ll need. Protein bars, two bottles of water, Mik’s inhaler, anti-inflammatories, and the mylar blankets that will help trap our body heat.
I can’t stand being even a few feet away from her for another minute, so I cradle her to my chest and carry her back to the makeshift bed.
“Mik? I don’t know if you can hear me, but you need to be warm, sweetheart. And that means getting out of these wet clothes.”
I’ve been soaked for hours, but I’ve also been moving, and now that I’m not, I can feel the chills setting in. I strip off my own pants, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and socks. Everything except for my boxer briefs. I want her. I’ve wanted her since I first spoke to her, but I won’t disrespect her, even if it means sleeping in wet boxers.
“No sex on the first date. Or second.”
“I was raised in a very conservative family.”
Her honor—her comfort—are second only to her life. After I get her shoes and socks off, I find swelling around her left ankle. Retrieving a small towel from my pack, I pat her foot and lower leg dry, then wrap the ankle securely with an ACE bandage.
Now? Things get challenging.
Draping one of the mylar blankets over her lower body, I carefully undo her belt, then the zipper on her pants, and maneuver them down her hips. All while trying not to let the blanket slip.
Her skin is soft, but so cold. Another blanket over her upper body, and I take a seat behind her and rest her against my chest. I can do this with my eyes closed. Strip off her ripped poncho, the flannel shirt, and fuck. Her tank top.
Her bra and panties are wet too, but they’ll dry quickly once we’re under the blankets.
I should check her for injuries. Bruises. Contusions. But not until she can consent. For now, it’ll be enough to get her warm.
If I could hold her and build a fire at the same time, I would, but now that she’s under two of the blankets and tucked into the sleeping bag, she’ll be okay for five minutes. At least…I hope she will be. I’m second guessing everything at this point. All of my training. All of my missions. Everything.
I grab large handfuls of brush, pile them close to the entrance, and add a waterproof fire starter. The first sparks catch in just a few seconds, and I gather some of the larger branches to lay on top. The heat warms the small space quickly, and the open roof lets the smoke escape well enough.
When I slide into the sleeping bag at Mikayla’s back, her skin is still so cold, but I guide her so she’s lying half on top of me, her head resting on my good shoulder, and wrap my arms around her. “I need you to wake up, Mik. To talk to me and tell me you’re okay.”
Mikayla
A sweet, smoky scent teases my nose.
I can feel my nose.
My cheeks, nose, and lips were the first parts of me to fade into nothingness after I fell. Then my hands and feet. But I can feel them too. Little pinpricks of pain dance along my fingers and toes, and I flex them, then suddenly realize I’m lying on top of Austin. And we’re both mostly naked.
“Mik?” he says, his voice deep and rumbling through his chest—the chest I’m draped over.
“Where are we?” Those three words take almost everything out of me, and I can’t muster the strength to move beyond opening my eyes and blinking hard.
Flickering. Firelight. Dark, stone walls. Old. A dirty floor.
“Somewhere.” The rustling of a sleeping bag accompanies his low chuckle. “Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t tell you much more than that. This old building isn’t on any map I’ve seen of this area. Hell, it was only a tiny blip on the GPS.”
“We’re safe here?” My whole body aches, all the bruises from my fall making themselves known, and I wince.
“As safe as I can make us.” Austin brushes his hand over my hair, and the intimate gesture brings a lump to my throat. “How do you feel?”
“Awful.” The word slips out before I realize its effect, and Austin stiffens.
“Tell me exactly what hurts and how bad, Mik.” The command in his tone is unmistakable, and his arms tighten around me ever so slightly, as if he can keep me safe by holding me close.
“Austin—“
He shifts me onto my back, no longer holding me, and the sense of loss makes the pain in my hands and feet seem like nothing at all.
“What. Hurts?”
I can see it now. How he’d be a natural leader. How soldiers—airmen?—wouldn’t dare disobey one of his orders. “My fingers and toes.“
Carefully, keeping the sleeping bag pulled up almost to my neck, he eases my left hand from under the covers. “The pruning’s gone. Flex your fingers for me?”
I do as he asks, even though my thoughts have finally cleared enough to understand what’s going on. “I’m okay, Austin. This is normal—I think—after being so cold for so long. They’re just tingling. Badly.”
He sits up, the sight of his bare chest sending a flush creeping up my neck. He’s built. I knew, of course. I’d caught a glimpse—crap, was that only last night?—when he’d answered the door with his shirt unbuttoned. And when he’d held me, those muscles were so strong and reassuring. But the reality of him is so much more than I’d dreamed of. And I absolutely did dream about him.
He notices me staring, even as he’s rubbing my left hand between both of his to help warm me up, and he suddenly stops and grabs one of the thin, shiny blankets to cover himself. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I needed to get you warm, and my clothes were almost as soaked as yours—“
“Don’t apologize.” I want to touch him, to trace those defined ridges, to ask him about the dozens of scars strewn haphazardly over his tanned skin.
“Mik…” His voice cracks, and he shakes his head. “I didn’t look. Didn’t see anything. I promise you…” Clutching the blanket so tightly his knuckles turn white, he looks away. “Turn around and I’ll see if my clothes are dry enough. At least my shirt.”
“Stop.” I’m so tired. So scared. But not of him. Not of…seeing him. “You undressed me without looking?”
“Yes.” He says it like he doesn’t understand why I’m in awe of him in this moment. “Nothing happens to you—or in front of you—that you don’t consent to, sweetheart. Nothing. Not while I’m here.”
He is too good to be true. Except he’s right in front of me, flesh and blood, muscles and heat, scars and sexy, deep voice. I wriggle enough to get my other arm out from under the sleeping bag, and though the air around us makes my skin prickle, and the sudden loss of warmth sends a brief flash of panic creeping up my spine, I need to be closer to him.
Wrapping my arms around Austin, I savor his warmth and the way he folds me into an embrace with his whole body. “Don’t let go,” I whisper, my lips close to his ear. “Please.”
Austin eases me down with him, and I snuggle against his side as he rubs my back. “You’re safe, Mik. I won’t leave you.”
My eyes burn, and the stress of everything threatens to drown me. “Everything’s fuzzy. We couldn’t get to the river?”
“We couldn’t cross it. The bridge was half gone, and you were too cold—I couldn’t risk it. At least here, we’re warm and mostly dry.”
Warm. Warm is good. Austin is safe. I’m safe.
Focus, Mik.
I blink hard as his handsome face goes soft and hazy for a moment. “What if we can’t cross the river in the morning either?”
“By morning, I suspect your graduate students will have convinced someone to send out a search party. The loner—Corey?—he was insistent about calling the police. Hell, I’m pretty sure he called 911 before I even left the hotel.”
“Corey...” My voice trembles, and I burrow deeper under the blankets.
“What’s wrong?” Tension stiffens Austin’s body, and he tries to get me to look at him, but I can’t. “Mikayla?”
“I…um…I’ve known him the longest. Sponsored him for the fellowship. He…he came from an unstable home environment.” I’m not lying. But I’m not telling Austin the truth either, and I can’t let him see it. Corey betrayed my trust, but he also tried to save me. I won’t just give him up without talking to him first. I can’t. Even though I know I shouldn’t keep this from Austin.
Silence stretches between us, filled with unanswered questions and need so strong, so desperate, it’s drawing us together like magnets. I’m exhausted, but also panicked, on edge, and terrified. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep, despite how tired I am.
Trailing my fingers over his chest, over the myriad of thin scars, I ask, “What happened here?”
“Not a story you want to hear.” The caring, concerned tone his voice carried just a few minutes ago is gone, shuttered at my single question. But we’re trapped here until the storm passes—or at least until it’s light again, and I’m not letting him get away with this a second time.
“You’re wrong.” I tip my head up to meet his gaze, and though the room spins a little, it steadies quickly enough. “I want to know you, Austin. This…this was supposed to be our tomorrow. Our second date. The one where you said I could ask about that ugly story. About your shoulder injury. About these scars. About…a lot of things.”
He stares up at the ceiling in the center of the room, the half-rotten shingles looking like they might not survive another night of this storm. But we’re tucked in the back of this old building, and here…it’s safe and warm and just the two of us.
“Tell me.” I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Tell me or touch me. Because everything hurts, it’s cold, and I need you. The real you. Or…at least more of you.”
Chapter Twelve
Austin
Mikayla looks so small and frightened huddled against me, but God, having her in my arms, her soft skin and curves starting to warm…I don’t know that I’ll ever get enough of her. I play with her hair, the short strands now dry, slipping over my fingers as I try for a gentle scalp massage, being careful to avoid the swollen bump at the crown of her head.
“I left my post.” Even now, eight months after I stood in Clarke’s office for my dressing down, I hunch my shoulders at the memory. “My sister and one of my closest friends were in trouble back in January, and they needed me. But you just don’t go AWOL in the military. Especially not when you’re the commander of Joint Special Operations Command. You do what you’re told. What your country needs you to do.”
“But…your sister. Anyone should understand that,” Mik says, her voice soft and tinged with exhaustion. Maybe she’ll fall asleep and I won’t have to tell her the rest. But she peers up at me, her eyes half-lidded, and though I could urge her to close them and probably get out of this…I want her to know. I need her to know.
“Not in my world. No. Each branch of the military is slightly different. In the Marines, it’s ‘God, Country, Corps.’ In the Air Force, we say—they say—‘integrity first, service before self, and excellence in all we do.’ I’m trained to stay on post no matter what. I chose to disobey orders, and what was even worse, to engage in unauthorized combat on foreign soil. Other than killing a man in cold blood or committing outright treason, that’s about the worst thing I could have done.” Shifting onto my back to relieve some pressure on my shoulder, I stare up at the ceiling, focusing on a rotting beam halfway across the room. “My commanding officer could have had me court-martialed.”
“No. He wouldn’t have…”
Shit, she’s so naive. Then again, so are most civilians. They don’t understand the rigidity. The absolute need for it. The unwavering commitment to following orders at all cost. “He would have…if there’d been any evidence of me going to Venezuela to help Dani. Luckily, the group I went with—a K&R firm out of Seattle—has one of the best hackers on the planet working for them. She covered my tracks.”
Mikayla traces her fingers over the scar from one of the bullets I took in Pakistan. “K&R?”
“Kidnap and ransom. Trev…he was in a Venezuelan prison. One you do not escape from. Not even when you’re a former CIA agent who’s deadlier than I am by half. Trev works for a security firm in Boston called Second Sight, and between them and Hidden Agenda—that’s the K&R group—it took five of us on the ground and another five online to get them out.”
“That’s where you were hurt?” she asks. “Your shoulder?”
My scoff sounds so much louder than I intend in the small space. “No. I came out of that mission with nothing more than a few bruises. Dani and Trev were the only ones…” My sister’s face flashes behind my eyelids. She’ll wear that scar along her cheekbone for the rest of her life. And Trevor…his scars aren’t physical, but that might make them even worse.
“Austin?” Mik cups my cheek, and I cover her hand with mine. “You were somewhere else again. Somewhere…dark.”
“Yeah.” Touching my forehead to hers, I blow out a long, slow breath. “Dani and Trevor went through hell down there. I’m not sure they’ll ever recover from it. Not fully. I should have…” Fuck. I don’t know what I should have done. “Dani asked me to go with her. To Venezuela. But I couldn’t, because I was on this fucking political song and dance tour across half a dozen countries. So Trev went. And his history with Venezuela…it’s a lot worse than mine.”
